


Plan G

by NightStreaktheBold



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen, Leverage Crew - Freeform, Multi POV, Nate has to actually talk about his feelings, Parker as the Mastermind in Training, Set around Mid-Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24929572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightStreaktheBold/pseuds/NightStreaktheBold
Summary: Hardison dies in Plan M. It had become somewhat of a shorthand on the team, a running joke that no matter how dangerous an eventuality, Nate had accounted for it, planned around it, knew the risks and weighed them against the reward. They knew there were other plans, other contingencies where they too did not make it out, that Plan W often involved leaving Sophie behind with the mark, that Plans H and T frequently account for the security team, henchmen, or other hired muscle beating Eliot. The first time they came close to losing someone, it was because Parker had decided that the plan Nate put forward was insufficient, and decided to go off script.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	Plan G

**Author's Note:**

> Set around Mid Season 3 of Leverage.
> 
> All of the characters, places, and references contained here belong to John Rogers and Chris Downey, as well as the rest of creative team behind this excellent show.

Hardison dies in Plan M. It had become somewhat of a shorthand on the team, a running joke that no matter how dangerous an eventuality, Nate had accounted for it, planned around it, knew the risks and weighed them against the reward. They knew there were other plans, other contingencies where they too did not make it out, that Plan W often involved leaving Sophie behind with the mark, that Plans H and T frequently account for the security team, henchmen, or other hired muscle beating Eliot. At first, Parker had made a game of it, quizzing Nate on how he created this or that contingency in his designs, practicing her smiling as Eliot cackled in his maniac way every time Nate admitted that he’d planned for Hardison to get left behind.

Even in the beginning, as they had first adapted to not being solo acts any longer, when they had to get used to seemingly simple aspects like sharing their plans with the rest of the team, not wandering off in the middle of a con to steal something that caught their eye, and coming to rely on the others to actually get the job done, it wasn’t anything like working with the other teams they’d partnered with over the years. For all their bickering and claims of not being team players, they’d all made friends and allies over their careers with others in the business (well all except Hardison, Parker suspected he was more lonely than he let on by how eagerly he had jumped at the idea of a second act to their performance, how readily he’d adapted to the idea of becoming a crew). But this, whatever it was, didn’t feel the same as Eliot’s Army buddies, Marcus Starke, or even Archie. Sophie hated having ties, connections to the realest version of herself that she allowed the world to see, but whatever they were to each other, it felt a whole lot more like “trust” and “loyalty” than she’d anticipated.

Nate could see it too, despite what Sophie said about his inability to understand human behavior outside of the con. He’d have to be blind to miss how much they were coming to rely on one another, the way Eliot and Hardison would watch sports and play video games together, how Parker would go to Sophie for advice on how to handle her emotions and try to pay her back in stolen jewels, and how Eliot regularly whipped up enormous multi-course meals for the whole team that just screamed “family dinners.”

When he was feeling particularly maudlin in his most anguish-fueled binges, Nate found himself regretting the growing sense of camaraderie among the team members. He sensed that they were not going to remain only coworkers, that they were rapidly becoming friends and learning to trust and care for one another, which was only going to make things more complicated in the long run. This kind of job didn’t pay to get too attached, not when sacrifices had to be made in the kind of stakes they were playing with.

There was no honor among thieves, his years in the insurance business had shown time and again, and those that try typically wind up in the bottom of French prisons (or on one memorable occasion during Eliot’s time in the service, left to rot at the bottom of a dried up well while in Myanmar). Nate designed his plans to protect their team as well as help their clients, but the possibility of losing someone had to be accounted for each and every time they went after one of their targets.

The first time they came really, hair-raisingly close to losing someone, it was because Parker had decided that the plan Nate put forward was insufficient, that ruining the retirement dreams of forty-eight people wouldn’t be balanced by getting their mark invested in the con, returning what remained of the money that she had convinced them to entrust with her. It had taken time for the others to realize just how deep the vindictive streak in Parker reached, that when she really, truly allowed herself to care about a job, she could be just as obsessive as Nate.

Sophie had noticed of course, the way that Parker had spoken up during their briefing, announcing how much she disliked the idea of letting Charlene Sinclair walk free, albeit not as financially solvent. Nate had waved her off, ignoring the way her fingers had fluttered over the table, absentmindedly tracing the patterns of locks on the glass ahead of her with a blank expression on her face. Sophie had refrained from pointing it out at the time in the interest of moving Hardison’s lecture along, and had promptly forgotten about it in the wake of Eliot and Hardison shouting at each other about whether finding a mark attractive was professional. But later, as she listened as Parker broke from the plan, climbing in to Sinclair’s office in a personal bid to identify evidence of her unauthorized investments rather than being in position to extract Hardison from the building, Sophie was suddenly reminded of the thief’s odd behavior.

Eliot had managed to get to the henchgoons in time to save the hacker from a bullet to the back of the skull, and a few hours later as everyone screeched at Parker, _“she’s out of control, man!”_ , Nate had been forced to shout to make himself heard, “Alright, that’s enough!”

Having remained silent under the haze of the others’ accusations, Parker finally glanced up in the sudden quiet, sharp downturned quirk of her lips dragging her brow down into a perfect frown.

“I wasn’t trying to get Hardison hurt,” she whispered quietly. A darting look as she instantly assessed for the seventeenth time that he was indeed still there, that he had not stormed out in disgust at her rash actions. “The plan wasn’t _enough_.” She said this last part with significant emphasis, with a gentle flap of her hands on the final syllable.

Sophie decided to try to translate Parker-ese into something more approaching common social parlance, walking over to the dining table from the couch where she had been parked for the last half hour after Eliot’s anger had transcended into a particularly vocal expression.

“I think what Parker is trying to say—” the grifter began before Nate cut her off.

“No, I get it. Everyone else, go home. Eliot, good work with Ms. Sinclair’s security and changing plans on the fly.”

Eliot threw his hands up in annoyance before stomping out of Nate’s apartment, muttering his discontent with how Nate was handling the situation. Sophie collected her handbag and coat and headed out after him, lightly tapping the table beside Parker’s hand as she passed.

Hardison lingered a moment longer that the others, looking between the sulking Parker and Nate, who had wandered over into his kitchenette, fixing himself a drink. Nate saw him standing awkwardly and waved his hand dismissively.

“Get going, Hardison,” he called, turning to put his bottle away.

As he too headed for the door, Nate returned to the table, where Parker had absentmindedly begun spinning a bottlecap declaring the branding of Hardison’s favorite orange soda. Considering the fact that Hardison had not been drinking a soda that evening and was always fastidious about properly recycling his plastics, Nate could only assume Parker had stolen the bottlecap at some other time and held onto it. That was… surprisingly sentimental for Parker.

Nate carefully sat down across from Parker at the dining table, taking care not to jostle it as he set his glass down, conscientious to avoid causing the cap to fall over. Parker had managed to spin it up onto one diagonal end, a thin strip of plastic that he was surprised could support the rest of the cap.

Parker continued to pretend that Nate wasn’t there, spinning her cap faster and faster with a look of great focus on her face, more intensity than it likely warranted.

Nate leaned forward and flicked the spinning cap, sending it hurtling off towards the couch. Parker’s long, thin fingers finally stilled, her gaze still fixed to the spot the bottlecap had just vacated.

When she still failed to speak up, Nate sighed and took a long pull from his glass. “Look Parker, I get it. Sometimes… it’s hard to know where the edge of the con needs to be. Where we have to weigh the good we’re doing against the risks to ourselves, the chances of getting hurt, getting caught, making things worse for our clients.”

He grunted quietly and dragged a hand through his already mussed hair, taking another drink from his now mostly empty glass. “What you did, it was brave, Parker. You did something that put yourself in danger because you were invested, because you allowed yourself to care about the outcome of a con.”

Parker glanced up with surprise evident in the twist of her brow and the confusion in her eyes. She didn’t say anything at this, but Nate could see how thoroughly she was hanging on to his words, no longer acting the statue.

“That being said, while you had good intentions and were trying to do the best you can for our clients, you went off plan. Your actions put the rest of us at risk, particularly Hardison.”

Parker made as if to interject, but Nate silenced her with a thump of his hand against the tabletop. “You changed **plans** , Parker. Your choice changed the game from Plan D to Plan G without giving us the opportunity to change with you, to take the steps that would actually swing it into Plan N.”

Parker interrupted then with an indignant exclamation, “If I had _told_ you, you would have argued with me, distracted me and I would have taken longer. I knew that I could do it if no one distracted me—”

“Parker, Hardison DIES in Plan G!” Nate shouted, slamming his glass hard on the table, causing the remaining amber liquid to slosh over the brim.

“He dies, Parker. The role of the Mastermind isn’t to come up with the perfect plan and guide you all through it, making adjustments on the fly to counteract the moves of our opponents.” He chuckled then, a somber, bitter sound that felt like the ice left at the bottom of a glass clinking against her teeth. “Well sometimes it is, one big game of chess with everything on the line… but when I do my job right, Parker, I plan for all of those moves, all the minute decisions the mark might make in response to the con ahead of time. I use the research Hardison digs around for and the character Sophie dreams up, and I run the whole thing, over and over, until I think I’ve managed to account for every move and countermove that I can expect our mark to make.”

Nate looked at her then, holding eye contact as he continued in a low voice, “My job is to use that knowledge to find the danger points, the places where we could loss someone, and plan how to prevent them, and how to handle them if they still arise. I can’t shy away from that, can’t pretend that this is just _chess_ and I’m only risking a bishop if I make this or that move.”

He tapped his glass twice on the table before lifting it to pour what remained of the liquor down his throat. “Sinclair’s security wasn’t just well trained, Parker. They’re not the type of museum guards or night watchman you’re used to running circles around, or even the privatized hired guns of your more risky enterprises. The kind of people we’re going up against now don’t hire the kind of security that holds back, that is willing to simply tase you and deliver you to the authorities. If you don’t believe me, just listen to Eliot the next time we go up against guys like this—none of his usual bitching about their technique, no pointing out their flaws, no whining about his bruises. He’ll be quiet, the way he only is when he’s hurting and hiding it.”

Nate sighed and rubbed his left temple, a sign that Parker had noted was frequently accompanied by him fixing himself another drink an average of 2.17 minutes later.

“Sinclair’s Head of Security tells you all you need to know about what those men would have done to Hardison if he hadn’t managed to stall until Eliot got there.”

Parker dutifully began to recite the relevant parts of Hardison’s briefing from the start of the job, “William ‘Bulldog’ Boldorova, US Army joined 2003, dishonorable discharge in 2005 for quote unquote ‘extreme aggression towards Afghani civilians,’ hired by the Sinclair Group in 2007 after a two year stint in various hired mercenary capacities—”

Nate cut her off there, getting up to pour himself another drink. “The point, Parker, is that these kinds of people hire the kinds of people who are not afraid of getting their hands dirty, and don’t ask questions about the reasoning behind it.” He looked up at her from the cabinets he’d begun digging for the bottle in, forgetting he’d left it on the shelf beside his fridge after adding ice to his glass earlier. Parker decided not to tell him where he’d placed it.

“Alright Parker, I need to go find another drink downstairs, and you need to not be in my living room anymore,” he said, his face pinching in the way she knew meant what he really needed was some sleep (Sophie had explained this to her once, after Parker had confided that she thought Nate was angry with her because of that face—she’d given the grifter a pearl and ruby brooch to say thank you [she had stolen it in Germany just because the museum curator was annoying and loud, rather than out of any particular affinity for “old lady jewelry” as her particularly rude fence at the time had remarked]).

Nate smiled at her suddenly, the rare half quirk of his lips that reminded Parker that he hadn’t always been the bitter man who was bound and determined to bring down the system that had killed his son. He pressed his knuckles to the kitchen counter, flexing his arm to push down against the hard surface.

“Look, Parker, I’m not trying to guilt you for caring about our work, for caring about our clients. I’m trying to explain to you how important monitoring that care is, how much effort you have to make to keep yourself from becoming so invested that you can’t make the decision to protect your team. Believe me, I know all too well how it feels to get tunnel vision on a mark.”

Parker snorted at this, thinking of more than a few occasions where Sophie had needed to rein in their mastermind when he’d gotten out-of-control obsessed.

“Exactly!” Nate said, pointing at her for emphasis. “I need you to learn this lesson now, so you don’t make the same mistakes I do when you’re running your own cons.”

Parker immediately began to interject, to deny that she would ever do such a thing, but Nate steamrolled on over her protests.

“No, I don’t mean _now_ , Parker. But one day, maybe. You’ve got the knack for seeing the big picture. Today notwithstanding.” Nate grimaced tightly and waved his hand at her, “Alright, enough talking about something that may never happen. You had a long day, and I really do need that drink.”

Parker stood for the first time in the past two hours, left ankle popping the way it always did when she was still for too long, residual stiffness from a bad fall years ago after a security guard cut her rappel line, a break that had never quite healed correctly. Being chased through the Madrid skyline by James Sterling and Nathan Ford three weeks later certainly hadn’t helped with the healing process.

She stretched it carefully to remove any residual cracks and pops in the joint, and tugged her leather jacket on as she prepared to leave. She really should go out the window, she mused to herself. Give it a little warm-up exercise climbing down the side of the building instead of taking the stairs, otherwise she’d have to compensate for the stiffness all day tomorrow.

As Parker reached for the window latch, preparing to leap out into the cool fall night, Nate called after her, “You know, I’m pretty sure that Hardison forgives you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Come follow me on Tumblr at moonsgreatestboydetective.tumblr.com if you want to yell about Leverage or any one of my other million favorite shows :)
> 
> This is my first time writing in the Leverage fandom, so please feel free to comment/leave kudos if you enjoyed or have something to share!


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